Speak No Ill of the Dead
by Queenie Z
Summary: After fulfilling his work as the Hero of Legend, Link struggles to find his place in the world. He wonders whether the specter of the Hero before him could have given him the answers he seeks... and proceeds to give him a piece of his mind for leaving before he could. Post Twilight Princess.


**Speak No Ill of the Dead**  
_**by Queenie Z**_

The Sacred Grove of Faron Woods was a solitary, secluded place; a forgotten corner of the world filled with history and the whispers of forest spirits. For ages, it had remained undisturbed, as had the Master Sword and the ruins of the Temple of Time. Even now, some years after the threat of Twilight had been vanquished and historians had begun to unearth the Grove's secrets, few were brave enough to venture inside.

However, for Link, who had visited the area many times since his journey's end, the Grove was not a place to be feared - in fact, he felt welcome there. It was a place of peace and tranquility; a place where the spirits of the forest and the remnants of the past welcomed him with open arms. He experienced there a sense of nostalgia he couldn't quite explain, and that calming familiarity brought him there time after time to clear his head and find relief from the confusion of life and the lingering baggage of his role as the Hero of Legend.

Moonlight poured into the Grove on this clear autumn night, illuminating the colored leaves scattered upon the ground. Sitting up against the trunk of a tree, looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars; however, the thick branches of the forest canopy prevented him from getting a good view. He sighed, then unscrewed the top of his flask to take a small sip from it. He hadn't planned on getting drunk on the whisky he brought, having only poured just enough to help ward off the chilly night air; nevertheless he found himself becoming somewhat flushed, not to mention irate, though he couldn't really say _why_ he felt so cross.

Perhaps he was angry at himself for being confused; for not moving forward with his life the way he thought he be by now. Before his journey, he would have felt perfectly content living out his adult years in Ordon herding goats, but now, after travelling the world, after seeing unimaginable terrors and meeting unforgettable people... he didn't know what we was supposed to do. He wanted to keep helping people, that much was certain; nevertheless, he felt torn between the call of heroism from the outside world and his ties to the hometown and people he loved so dearly. As a result, he'd spent the past few years wandering aimlessly, from Hyrule to Ordon and back again, in an attempt to find his place in the world - and quite frankly, he was beginning to get sick of it.

He grumbled to himself, allowing his gaze to turn to a familiar landmark - the old stone carved with the goddesses' sacred mark, one which used to whistle the notes of a nostalgic lullaby. Now, however, it was silent, and it only served to remind Link of the similar stones he had encountered throughout Hyrule and, most of all, of the spirit who had put them there for him to find. That spirit, the ghost of the Hero before him, the one who had taught him so much and inspired him to accept his own destiny... he wondered if perhaps he could have helped him find the answers he was seeking. It was unfortunate, then, that the old specter seemed to have already left this mortal coil for good.

Suddenly, Link's face contorted into a scowl. He took another drink of his whisky, screwed the flask's top back on, then stood, looking towards the sky and addressing it angrily.

"Hey old man!" he cried out, "I don't know where you ended up or what you're doing, but if you can hear me, I've got a hell of a lot to say to you!"

He paused for a moment, then abruptly realized how foolish he looked, waiting for an answer he knew would never come. The whisky must have gotten more to his head than he thought it would... nevertheless, he scoffed, continuing his irritated rant.

"You know, for someone who waited around so long to teach me, you sure didn't stick around long enough to answer any _real_ questions." He lifted a finger and pointed vaguely upwards. "You told me that I was the one true Hero; you told me I was brought into this world so I could save it! Now that's all fine and good - but what happens to a Hero when he finishes his job!? What the hell am I supposed to do now that it's all over, huh!?"

Link began to pace around the clearing, furrowing his brow and gesticulating frantically as he walked. "You kept talking about _courage_ this and _destiny_ that - but none of that means a damn thing when you're stuck in a rut and don't even know what you're supposed to do next! I've asked everybody I can think of - everybody I know - but they don't get it! None of 'em get it! I can't just 'do what feels right' when I've been through so much _hell_ I don't even know what right _is_ anymore...!"

He stopped suddenly when he felt his foot touch the howling stone in mid-pace. He looked down, staring at the hunk of rock for a moment as his scowl gave way to a look of exhaustion. Drained, he sank to the ground, sitting down beside the stone and leaning on it in spite of himself.

"...But you knew," he said weakly, "you knew all the things I had to go through - you probably went through most of it yourself." He ran a hand through his matted blond hair and sighed once more. "So why'd you have to leave so soon? Why couldn't you have stayed a while, talked to me, helped me figure these things out? You may have been creepy lookin', old man, and you were real hard-ass at first... but I could've really used your company, you know?"

He yawned loudly - he knew it, the whisky really _was_ getting to him, wasn't it? Then, he reached over and pulled his cloak tighter around himself before shutting his eyes as he leaned against the cold stone. However, before he allowed himself to drift off into sleep, he grimaced slightly.

"When I croak one of these days and wind up where you are," he mumbled, "I'm gonna kick your ass."

Eventually, the warmth of his drink and the sound of rustling leaves lulled him into a deep, dreamless slumber.


End file.
